


Scarlet

by MajorPidge (ScoracleTrash), ScoracleTrash



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M, Part red riding hood, fairy tale AU, part beauty and the beast, part hades and persephone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:15:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26293237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScoracleTrash/pseuds/MajorPidge, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScoracleTrash/pseuds/ScoracleTrash
Summary: Straying off the path in the woods holds danger for more than just little girls.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Enric Pryde
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What am I even doing at this point? My brain is just fucking with me now with these plot bunnies.

Scarlet was the name of the family. Scarlet was the young man’s hair, and scarlet was the cloak his mother had made him of the finest wool sold in the town on the other side of the forest. Scarlet, also, was the treasure he sought.

The doctor from the town had said the fever would take his mother within the fortnight, and there was but one cure. He had not wanted to tell the young man what it was, but eventually, he did. Deep in the woods, he had told him, off the north side of the path, he would find a fine house which he must not enter. Around the gate to the garden of the house, he would find vines which dropped scarlet berries.

For three days, the doctor said, you must go and retrieve two berries from the vines. They do not keep, and must be eaten very fresh. Six berries would restore her health, and save her from the fever.

Of course, the young man protested. No one ever left the path through the woods to the north; it was not possible for there to be a house among the trees.

But the doctor told him legends spoke of it, and that it must exist, and if it did, the berries that grew at the gate of that garden were the only thing that could save the young man’s mother.

So early in the morning with the next sunrise, he went out along the path.

When it had wound so that he could no longer see his home, he knew he was deep enough along the trail to wander off of it in search of the garden, but his steps were hesitant. Many were the legends of what dwelt in the north half of the woods, and none of them were pleasant stories.

Armed only with a knife at his belt, he let himself pass between two oaks and into the embrace of the canopy of leaves.

Many was the time he had hunted in the southern half of the woods. There, fallen branches abounded and dense undergrowth made passage difficult without heavy boots. Here, it was different. It looked almost as if someone had taken the time to clear the forest floor, making it easier to pass through. Strange, given that no one ever passed here.

Slight sounds that made the young man’s hair stand on end ever turned out to be rabbits and stags and birds and fallen acorns. Soon he began to forget his fear. The legends seemed to be just that; legends only.

But if they were legends only, that meant he might never find that which he sought.

The walk through the woods along the path took three hours. It took him three hours of walking to come upon the side of the cliff that signaled the northern boundary of the woods. It might take several days to search the whole of the expanse of these woods, and the man in the scarlet cloak did not possess such time.

It was fortunate, then, on his way back toward the path, that he discovered the house.

It was indeed a fine house. It was well-kept, as if someone must live within it. He thought, at first, that he ought to go to the door and ask if it was alright that he took two of the heavy berries growing about the gate, but he found the gate locked, and he was loathe to jump the fence for the thorny vines that covered it. Whoever lived there must’ve very much wanted people to stay away. Perhaps they had even started the legends of the beasts in the forest, to keep others out.

In the end, he took two berries, thinking no one should notice them missing, and folded them in a cloth before slipping them into his pocket. Then he turned and began to make for the path again.

It was not long before he felt eyes upon him.

He turned every way, his hand on the hilt of his knife, but he saw nothing in the trees, though it was growing darker as the sun sank toward the mountains in the distant west.

He started on his way again, hearing the sounds of footsteps across the curiously bare ground that seemed to echo his own, but still he saw nothing beside or behind him.

He knew if it was one of the creatures of legends, it could catch him easily if it so chose. It was better not to run and waste his breath; he would be dead already if the thing following him desired it. Still, it made the hairs on his spine raise in his flesh, to feel himself stalked so closely by something he could not see.

It followed him for the two more hours it took to reach the path. Sometimes he thought he could hear it breathe. Sometimes he even thought he could hear it stop to inhale deeply as if taking in his scent. 

But when he stepped onto the path, the sounds ceased, as did his feelings of being watched. The light of the early afternoon was golden and comforting, and he exhaled fully for the first time since he had stepped into the trees.

Before he moved on, he made a notch into the branch of one tree to remind him where to step off the path again the next day.

He made his way home and fed his delirious mother the two berries with the care she had given him remedies when he was a child, made her tea and freshened her blankets before sitting down before the hearth.

Two more days, he would have to make the trek into the northern forest. 

He shivered slightly at the idea, though it was pleasantly warm in the house. Whatever had followed him today had not harmed him, but it had still unsettled him.

He hoped it would be elsewhere in the woods tomorrow, and not bother with him.


	2. Chapter 2

On the second day, the young man found the notch he had made in the tree and walked past it into the woods. His senses were sharp for anything out of the ordinary, for he remembered well the sensation of being followed from the previous day.

But nothing followed him.

He reached the garden gate as he had the day before, and took two berries, and with a feeling of dread, began to make his way back toward the path.

He hoped whatever had followed him yesterday was otherwise occupied.

But alas, before long, he heard the echoing footsteps and felt the sensation of being followed.

It frightened him all the more this time, for it seemed to sound more obvious. He could hear breathing, and then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.

He stopped dead because of his fear.

It was the largest wolf he had ever seen, twice the size of one that would normally be seen in the southern half of the woods. It was iron-grey and had eyes the pale blue color of a deep glacier.

He would’ve been awed at its beauty, its majesty, were he not so terrified.

He decided running was foolish. It could easily outrun him. And so after a long, breathless moment, he slowly began to walk in the direction of the path again.

The thing began to follow him.

It moved as slowly as he did, at a distance, watching him all the way. It held no malice in its eyes, but it watched him intently, almost as if curious about his movements.

As if it wanted to know what, exactly, it was doing in his woods.

He stopped and turned toward it. It seemed ridiculous, and yet…

And yet, if the creatures of this wood really were so unique as the legends said, and he was more than just a wolf, he supposed he owed it an explanation.

“My mother is dying,” he said. The wolf stopped, and sat, and tilted its head.

“If I don’t come into these woods and get her berries, she’ll die. I’m sorry if I’m not supposed to be here. In fact, I know I’m not supposed to be here. And I can’t find the owner of the garden to ask them if I can take the berries, but I have to save my mother,” he choked a bit, “She’s all I have.”

The wolf looked at him with a curious sort of serenity that could’ve been understanding.

It moved slightly closer to him, and continued to follow him to the path.

At the path, the wolf stopped, framed between two trees, and watched. The young man stood for a moment, making eye contact with it, before he turned and began to make his way back home along the path.

The wolf followed, along the inside of the first trees, until the forest ended at a field, and it followed no further.

At home, the young man fed his mother the berries. She seemed to be improving in her condition, and coming out of her delirium.

“Where have you been?” she asked in a moment of lucidity.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow when I get back,” was all he said.


	3. Chapter 3

On the third day, all seemed well. The young man was tense, because he knew the slightest misstep or unexpected hitch in his plan could cause everything to fall apart, and his mother to be lost to him forever. But he also felt a sense of relief that his treks into the northern woods were nearly over.

He retrieved the berries as always, and like the day before, the great wolf followed him as he left the forest and walked along the path home. But like the day before, it did nothing.

He fed his mother the final berries with a cup of tea and sat by her bedside into the night, moving only to stoke the fire.

He fell asleep in the chair by her bed.

When he woke in the morning, she was up and making porridge, having covered him with a blanket.

“My darling Armitage,” she said when she saw him stir, and came to him to wrap her arms around him, “However did you save me?”

“The doctor told me the cure,” he said, not wanting to worry her and omitting the details of his quest, “I had to travel each day to get the doses because it doesn’t keep well.”

She nodded, “So that’s why you were gone so long. I called to you.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“It’s alright, my boy,” she said, placing her hand on his cheek, “Thank you so much for taking care of your old mother.”

For three days it was as if all was normal. He even journeyed to and from town without seeing the wolf along the path.

And then, on the third night, as they sat down to dinner, there was a scratching at the door.

Armitage was puzzled, but his mother seemed to have a sense of what must be going on.

“What was the cure the doctor gave you?” she asked as she stood to go and dip a third bowl of stew.

“What does it matter?”

“Armitage,” her voice was warning.

“Berries,” he said, “From the north of the forest.”

“How many did you take?”

“Six. Two a day, for three days. It healed you,” he seemed defensive.

She, on the other hand, seemed resigned, “The doctor didn’t tell you the price, I see.”

“Price?”

She went to the door, unbarred it, and opened it. Looming massive in the doorway was the wolf.

“I didn’t know it could leave the forest,” Armitage said in fear, frozen in his seat.

“Of course it can leave the forest,” she said as if he was daft, “Don’t you remember any of the stories I told you as a boy?”

He shook his head, “Not about a wolf.”

“Won’t you come in, dear grandfather?” she asked of the wolf, and it stepped inside the house.

She set the bowl of stew on the ground, and it began to eat, with a surprising amount of control, even daintiness, for a great wild dog.

“Grandfather?” the young man asked.

“It’s a sign of respect,” she said simply, and took her seat at the table again.

“So what’s this price the doctor didn’t tell me about?”

“Six berries,” she said, “You owe him six weeks. I’ll have to hire someone to care for the animals in that time, of course.”

The wolf looked up at her and nodded its head once. It could’ve been a gesture of shaking off an itch, or it could’ve been a nod of understanding.

“Six weeks? Six weeks where?”

“At the house in the woods.”

“I have to go live in the woods for six weeks?”

She nodded, “It’s always been the way. You take something that belongs to the wolf, you owe him your time. He’s lonely, in the woods. Most people avoid him because they want to avoid taking something that belongs to him, and owing him time.”

“I remember now,” Armitage said, “Your story about Grandfather Wolf. I always thought it was a fable to keep me from taking things that didn’t belong to me.”

“It’s real,” she said, “As you can see.”

They ate the rest of their meal in silence, and when it was over, Armitage stood and moved to grab his pack.

“You take nothing with you,” she said, “He’ll provide for you.”

He hesitated, then turned and gave his mother a clutching embrace, “What if something happens to you while I’m gone?” he asked in fear.

“Nothing will happen to me, dear,” she pulled away and touched his cheek, “Grandfather will provide for me, too.”

Armitage turned to the wolf, who nodded again.

“Then I…”

“You go with him, yes,” she said.

“I’ll see you soon, mother.”

“I’ll see you soon, my son.”

He turned and followed the wolf from the house.

It led him along the road to the place where it narrowed into the forest path, and there led him into the trees to the north, at the place where Armitage had made his notch.

Into the night they walked, but it seemed to take less time, somehow, to reach the garden gate.

It swung open before them.

He hesitated before crossing it. He had the sinking feeling that he could not go back the way he came, and he was right. As he stepped through, the gate closed behind him, and locked itself in such a way that he could not open it from within.

The wolf went ahead of him and entered the house.

He followed, but inside he did not find the wolf.

Instead, he found a man.


	4. Chapter 4

Armitage looked at the man before him with confusion and fear.

“What did you think, boy?” he asked in a refined sort of way, “That wolves live in houses?”

The man looked terribly amused at him. His eyes were the same shade as the wolf’s, his hair iron-grey like its fur. 

“You’re the wolf,” Armitage said, “You shapeshift.”

He nodded.

“I didn’t think people like you existed.”

“Did you think people simply pulled the legends from thin air?”

“I don’t know,” the young man sank into a chair in the house, the fine house with its second floor and its sectioned rooms.

“What do I call you?” he asked after a moment, “Grandfather?”

“Enric,” said the man with a smirk, “You may call me Enric.”

Like his wolf form, there was a beauty and majesty to the appearance of the man. He was older, old enough to be a grandfather, as was his title, but not ancient. Younger-looking even than Armitage’s mother. His face was chiseled and serious, his eyes as intense as they had been when he had been a wolf.

“You’re tired,” Enric said, “Come. I’ll show you your room.”

“I have a room?”

“You’re staying with me for six weeks, of course you have a room.”

“What…” Armitage swallowed, “What do you want from me?”

“Your mother already told you,” Enric said as he looked back over his shoulder from the foot of the stairs with a wistfulness in his eyes, “Company.”

Armitage followed him silently. At the first door on the right of a hallway, Enric opened a door for him.

Inside was a room finer than anything Armitage had ever seen, finer than the finest houses in town must’ve been. The furniture was polished rather than rough-hewn, the wash pitcher and basin was delicate porcelain rather than clay. The blankets on the bed were large and full, as if stuffed full of eiderdown.

“This is too good for me,” Armitage said softly.

“You’re my guest,” said the grey-haired man, “Nothing is too good.”  
And he left the young man standing in the doorway, going to the end of the hallway and entering his own door.

Armitage had no real choice but to enter the room, and so he did, and stripped down to his shirt, and slid into the bed, exhausted.

It was the softest thing he had ever felt, cradling his body gently as he sunk into it slowly. It wasn’t long before he was asleep.  
_  
In the morning, Armitage was surprised to find his pitcher full of water, steaming hot. He hadn’t bathed with hot water in some time; it was a waste of wood to heat the pot when it was full enough for washing and tea both. He sighed as he dragged the wash cloth across his skin, then dressed again in his clothes from the day before and, with tentative steps so that he would disturb nothing and no one, went down the stairs.

He found the table laid for breakfast, modest but more than anything Armitage had ever eaten aside from on a few very important days of the year, and after looking around and seeing his host nowhere, sat and began to eat.

It was excellent food.

What was a wealthy man doing living in the middle of the woods? Where did his fine things come from? And why was he here alone?

These were not questions Armitage felt comfortable asking.

Enric returned as Armitage was finishing his meal, carrying a basket of herbs.

“Good, you ate.”

Armitage nodded, “I’m relieved to know you wanted me to.”

“Well, I don’t want my guest to starve, now, do I? I would never lay out anything before you I didn’t intend for you to have.”

He sat down at the table and began to unroll a piece of twine from a ball and gathered a handful of rosemary, tying it onto the twine.

“Would you...would you like help?” Armitage offered hesitantly after a moment.

“That would be lovely,” said the older man with a slight smile, and he cut his twine and cut another piece for Armitage, passing it to him. Armitage took a small bunch of lavender and tied it into his string.

“I help my mother do this,” he said as if he felt the need to explain, “She grows a lot in the garden.”

“So do I,” said Enric, “Your mother is a good woman.”

“Yes,” said Armitage, “She is.” There was an air of something almost defensive about him.

Armitage was the illegitimate son of one of the town’s most prominent landowners, and his mother had been driven out of it by the hisses and jeers of the townspeople after she became pregnant. She had never told anyone but Armitage who the father was, and so everyone assumed it was some drifter or nomad passing through, and made up vicious rumors about her. So was the scarlet stain on the family name, the stain that kept them living alone on the other side of the forest.

They were alone, rather like this man, this wolf.

He almost said something about it, but kept it to himself.

But Armitage at least went into the town, and was able to trade with only a few sidelong glances. Knowing glances, because only one person in the town had such bright hair aside from Armitage. 

He had never seen Enric before.

Enric had a satisfied sort of smirk on his face. It was almost as if he knew the young man’s thoughts, knew he wanted to ask questions, but was too afraid to. As if he knew that at some point his curiosity would get the better of him.

Enric began to hum quietly as he worked, and Armitage recognized the song.

“My mother sings this,” he said with a bit of surprise, “I know this.”

“Darkness is nought but daylight’s companion,  
The moon and the stars never seek to abandon  
The traveler who dares to stray from the path  
For he who treads lightly is spared from the wrath  
Of the forest.”

Enric began it, and Armitage joined him part of the way through.

“Where did you learn it?” the young man asked.

Enric’s smile was satisfied, enigmatic.

“Well where did my mother learn it?” the fire-haired boy pressed.

“Your mother was young once,” he said, “And once couldn’t stop herself from taking something that didn’t belong to her.”

Armitage’s lips parted, his jaw going slightly slack.

He had no words in response to that. And worse, they were finished with the herbs, and Enric gathered them and stood to hang them, effectively ending the conversation.

His mother had never spoken of such a thing.


End file.
